


Magic

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is found and placed in the custody of the Inquisition-- but is kept a secret by the Herald of Andraste until judgement. Dorian is intrigued from the get-go, but intrigue becomes interest, becomes closeness, becomes unrest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. End of the Rope

**Author's Note:**

> This fic features my female Adaar Inquisitor, Avraa, who is extremely, even violently pro-mage and anti-templar/chantry (and a mage herself), beyond even Anders's level due to some sufferings in her past that will be revealed in the story. She romances Sera, and is in a relationship with Sera when the story starts despite that the beginning takes place pre-Skyhold. She butts heads with Cullen and Cassandra, and Vivienne is not present in this fic as she didn't accept her into the Inquisition.
> 
> The Hawke used here is in appearance the default Garrett Hawke-- Humorous/Sarcastic, and romanced Fenris but had a (requited) thing for Anders that never took off and tries to remain very close to both of them.
> 
> There is a fair amount of content on Sera/Adaar and Hawke/Fenris but the overall focus is of course Dorian/Anders/Justice. Some other side-pairings may be hinted as well. Including Male Surana/Morrigan, Krem/Cullen, and Isabela/Merrill.
> 
> For the most part this is a love story-- shouldn't be too long as I plan to not stray outside of the development of Dorian and Anders's relationship in particular. Happy endings and kindness to Anders and Justice are guaranteed.

She could feel him glaring at the back of her head, the anger coming off him like steam. Her grin grew.  

A Tevinter mage that didn’t enjoy the wet and cold but liked to compare slavery to poverty, as well as defend it, and a wet, cold, mire? The two seemed to go hand in hand as far as she was concerned.  
  
Dorian disagreed. His feet were sinking into the ground with ever step and further with every stall. The sides of his boots were already collecting mud around the edges of their soles. It was raining, gently, but based on the lack of stars in the sky, that drizzle could have at any moment become a downpour.  
  
He was here to help, that was the point, so he’d resolved upon first arrival to do as he was asked without complaint or question. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make sad faces and glare at the mud beneath his feet.  
  
_It smells here._  
  
Aavra Adaar, the Herald of Andraste, was talking to Scout Harding about their objective as well as some other details about the bog.  
  
“Templars?” Adaar asked, surprised.  
  
“Yes, there’s a small group, about six or seven a few hundred yards past one of our outposts.” Harding explained. “They seem to be rogue templars but we haven’t approached them to see if they’re hostile.”  
  
“All right, we’ll look into it.” Adaar said, and she started to move. She realized within the first few steps that one of her companions was distracted, and falling behind.  
  
“Dorian!” She shouted. “You coming?” She titled her head and smirked with some mockery. Dorian scoffed, mumbled something about bog-dwelling, and then gave her a weak nod before following after her. Every step was a step deeper into the disgusting swamps.  
  
He looked at Blackwall. He seemed right at home here, or at least it didn’t faze him. _Of course it didn’t, the hairy lummox!_ He’d probably walked through piles of smelly darkspawn corpses in his time, why should a little swamp water bother him?  
  
Sera didn’t seem to mind either, though she might have complained had she not been sticking to Adaar’s side since they left Haven. Laughing at every stupid joke she made, and vice versa. Blackwall seemed to be getting a kick out of them too, and wasn’t catching onto the idea that he may have been a third wheel. Their little three-way vulgar jokes were almost as disgusting as the smell of dead things all around.  
  
The three of them were friends, it seemed, and Dorian felt painfully out of place. But, he would have under any circumstance. He was yet to gain a positive standing among any members of the Inquisition, and the friends he’d had…  
  
Well, one, whom he could hardly still call a friend, was still in the holding cells, awaiting judgement by whatever qualified party. And the other... he didn't like to think about it.  
  
“What are we here for, again?” He couldn’t help asking, if only to get his mind off other things.  
  
“The Inquisition’s soldiers are missing.” Sera said over her soldier, voice tone condescending like it was the most obvious thing in Thedas. “Aav’s gonna find them and kick some arse! Or, y’know, set some arse on fire!”  
  
“I like the sound of that.” Aavra confirmed. “Avvar running around with their butts on fire.” She chuckled gently, looking off into the distance as if imagining it.  
  
“Yes I see. A noble cause indeed.” Dorian admitted with a frustrated sigh, still far from happy.  
  
“Flaming arses?” Blackwall offered.  
  
“I meant the soldiers!”  
  
Sera laughed loudly, loud enough to wake the dead.  
  
Blackwall turned his head and squinted through the light rain, at a figure across one portion of the marsh. “There’s some of those undead bastards now.” Sure enough, the dead had awoken.  
  
“They're way over there? I’ll just shoot at them.” Sera raised her bow.  
  
“No.” Aavra put her hand on the loaded arrow, and Sera scowled at her. “They have bows too, and Blackwall’s only useful in close-combat. We’ll be too outnumbered that way. We should try to flank them.”  
  
“Doesn’t that mean… going through there?” Sera gestured toward the stretch of murky black water between them and the small hoard of undead.  
  
“Yes. And we should stay low, keep only your nose above the water to breath.”  
  
“Are you serious?!” Sera barked, and Dorian was almost petrified by the thought, standing at the edge, looking into the murk and mud, half-convinced he was going to lose his dinner to the tiny ripples that seemed to laugh at his expense.  
  
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Blackwall spoke up.  
  
“Of course it does!” Dorian barked, his voice cracked and his face was a mix of anguish and horror.  
  
“Oh.” Aavra said.  
  
“What?” Sera asked.  
  
“They’ve noticed us.”  
  
Only a moment later an arrow shot straight past Sera’s ear and stuck deep into the tree behind her.  
  
“Oh frig.” She immediately armed her bow and started to move into the marsh.  
  
“Charge!” Blackwall shouted, drawing his sword and doing the same. Aavra set the group ablaze, occupying them with the sizzling of their own flesh as the three of them rushed into the water. Dorian watched them all with an overwhelming sadness that came with the knowledge that he’d have to follow them in. He then noticed, as they entered, more undead began to rise out of the water.  
  
“Wait!” He shouted. “You’re waking up more of—,” He stopped, and scoffed. Not only was this a newly commissioned robe from the finest seamstress he could get in contact with, but now he had a better excuse. Who knew how many of them going in there would stir?  
  
He noticed a small trail that seemed to lead around the watery graveyard and straight to the patch of land the others were rushing to. Well— he couldn’t tell for sure, as it the path disappeared behind a stone wall made up of multiple giant grey rocks, but it seemed to come out on the other side. Even better, it came out behind all of the undead, so he could get the drop on them.  
  
Not wanting to waste another second, he ran for it.  
  
  
  
It was maybe five— no, four minutes at most from the time he’d disappeared behind the series of monstrous rocks— that really didn’t look quite this big from a distance, that he realized this path did not lead where he wanted it to go.  

He couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, and it had been a long time since he was able to see the others. But… on the off chance this did lead to the right place, wouldn’t it just take longer to go back the way he came?  
  
He slowed his pace, and tried to listen, hoping maybe they’d be calling his name. Being alone, he wasn’t sure how smart it would be to call out to them himself. What if he was attacked by a hoard of undead, or demons even?    
  
“Kaffas.” He cursed in a whisper, and rubbed his neck in discontent. He was surrounded on all sides by rocks, might have been comforting if there hadn’t been cracks and caves between most of them, wherein anything could have been lurking.  He turned in a circle, eyeing all of the dark crevices for movement, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a sound from the one right next to him.  
  
“Hello?” He whispered, almost reflexively, crouched as if ready to dodge and run. He heard the faint sound of rustling from inside. Had it been one of his companions, they would have addressed him by now.  
  
Unless— Maker forbid— Sera and Adaar were pulling another prank.  
  
“Is someone there?” At this point he hoped it wasn’t either of them. Though an Avvar warrior or a large animal may have been the other options and none of it was appealing.  
  
He hunched himself lower, worried something was going to jump out at him the moment he looked away. It was dark and his feet were wet and he was alone and definitely not about to rip up anything he was wearing to make a torch.  
  
In the same moment that he decided he’d so best to vacate the area, he heard a voice to his right, and jerked his head to look. There was a large group— at least five or so headed straight for him, just visible through the fog. He could see that they were carrying swords unsheathed, and some of them shields with a familiar sword-shaped symbol. They were just waiting for a fight.   He didn’t take time to think— he darted forward into the crack in the rocks, and when he did, he immediately tripped over a very prominent and soft lump in the middle.  
  
It was hard to be sure through falling and nearly planting his face in the dry ground, but he thought he may have heard the lump grunt.  

He stayed frozen on the ground, petrified that the templars had seen him and would come in after him. He was likely more than a match match for any single templar even with their negation of magic, but a group of them? He was as good as dead.  
  
The footsteps and clanking of armor came into earshot from outside the crevice. Dorian shut his eyes tightly, clenched his fists, pleading that they hadn’t noticed anyone. Slowly, he turned his head to look over his shoulder. He could see them passing, none were paying any mind to the small cave.  
  
They must not have seen him.   He released a sigh of relief when they passed on, along with the breath he’d been holding. It came out in a few seconds of pants while he gathered himself, still there on the ground, until—  
  
“You can get off me now.” A groggy-sounding, slightly irritated voice came from behind him, and he tensed again. He realized that his legs from the knees down were still sprawled across the lump he’d originally tripped over, and that it was shifting under them. “They’ve moved on.”  
  
Dorian squirmed off the body quickly, and turned over onto his back to face it. Whoever it was had not moved, they were still curled up under the blanket.  
  
“It’s okay.” The voice said, softer now. “You’re a mage, right? You’ll be all right here if you want to hide for a while.”  
  
Dorian noticed that the voice sounded incredibly tired, hoarse, congested; almost incoherent with the words it was speaking. It sounded like an attempt at comfort, or an offer to protect, but the voice itself sounded as if whoever owned it was on their last life.  
  
Dorian sat up slowly. He didn’t want to invade anyone’s privacy or step on their pride but he wasn’t going to walk away from a sick man either.  
  
“How can you be sure they won’t come back?” Dorian asked carefully.  
  
The pile of blankets shifted, and there was a sigh. “I set a decoy trail.” It was followed by a series of loud, echoing coughs, that had they been released any sooner, might have drawn the templars back.  
  
“Are you all right?” Dorian asked carefully.  
  
“I’m resting.”  
  
“Are you alone?”  
  
“No.” The answers were short, and the voice was trailing further off with every word.  
  
“Is someone coming for you, then?” Dorian asked. Hopefully it would be someone who could take care of whatever sickness he’d contracted in the mire.  
  
He sighed. “Eventually.”  
  
Dorian scoffed, and gave the dark silhouette of a body a cock-eyed look. “You sound awful. You might need medical attention.”  
  
“I need sleep.” The reply was aggressive. “If you’re not going to stop talking then you’ll have to leave.”  
  
Moments passed, and then. “Unless…” The body shifted again, and the man raised his head to look over his shoulder at Dorian. “You are a mage, right? Do you have any healing ability?”  
  
“So you _are_ injured.” Dorian scoffed. “Unfortunately, very little. It’s not something I’ve very much practiced.”  
  
“Then there’s no way you’d be able to go beyond what I’ve already done for myself.” The man settled back to lie down. Dorian then stood, and dusted himself off, only to end up with blades of grass stuck to his hand. He looked down at his robe under the moonlight that leaked into the cave and saw a dark spot.  
  
“Fasta Vass!” He huffed. There was a very prominent grass stain! They were days from Haven, there’s no way he would have been able to get it out without proper resources. These robes were ruined.  

“Fasta Vass?” The man spoke again. “That’s familiar, you’re Tevinter?”  

Dorian glanced at him as he walked back around toward the entrance, but he didn’t bother answering. The answer was obvious.

“What’s a Tevinter mage doing here?”  
  
Dorian sighed. “If you must know, I’m with the Inquisition’s forces.” He was still trying to remove the splotches of mud and had become overly conscious about other stains.  
  
“Then, the Inquisition, are they here?” The man asked, and he started forcing himself to sit up again. “Are you going to tell them I’m here?” His voice sounded like he was making an attempt to be threatening, but it wasn’t working.  “Well I didn’t plan on it, but now I’m curious as to why that would be so bad.” Dorian said. The man looked away from him. He was hard to make out in the dark, but some moonlight illuminated the side of his face. He looked thin— maybe malnourished, and his hair and skin were a light color.  
  
“No—.” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“You’re an apostate.” Dorian said, plainly. “I understand. I won’t say anything.”  
  
The man turned his head to look straight at him, and the moonlight caught his entire face. He made a vague note of familiarity.  
  
“Thank you.” He said. He sounded surprised, though Dorian wasn’t sure the man believed him. Dorian wasn’t sure he believed himself, either, but only because it was becoming more and more clear that this man needed medical attention, and not just magic or a potion. The blanket he was sleeping under had also been partially illuminated, and it was stained with blood.  
  
It was confirmed to be his own blood by the way he caught Dorian looking at it with concern, and quickly folded it over so it couldn’t be seen. Then he sighed, and let his face fall into his hands.  
  
“I’ll be fine. I’m a good healer.” He insisted.  
  
“We have camps established. I could bring you to one of them. They’d never even have to know you were a mage.” Dorian offered.  
  
“Camps?” The man snorted. “You’re making settlements all over then?”  
  
“That seems to be the goal here, yes. We’re spreading rather quickly, but our hearts are in the right place.”  
  
“Our hearts? I thought the Inquisition was lead by one man. One Inquisitor?”  
  
“We don't have one yet, but right now one woman is calling the shots.” Dorian corrected. “A qunari to be exact. But yes, as far as I’m concerned she’s doing well for Thedas.”  
  
“A Qunari?” He was immediately outraged. “Doing well for Thedas? Are you sure you’re a mage or is this a Tevinter thing? Do you know the way they treat mages under the Qun? Worse than we do.”  
  
“I know better than you, I guarantee it.” Dorian bit back. “She _is_ a mage.” He asserted. “And she’s not of the Qun. Tal-Vashoth or… Vashoth, I believe.”  
  
The man scoffed, probably in disbelief. “Shows how much information I’ve been able to grab onto.” He cringed then, subtly, as if something had started to sting.  
  
“But you should go.” He continued to insist. “I’d rather not be bothered. I’ll make it. I’m supposed to be meeting with someone.” The moment after he got the words out, his hand shot to his chest, and he heaved forward. He moaned in agony as he clutched his robe at the collar in one hand and leaned forward supporting himself on his other.  
  
Dorian dropped to one knee beside him immediately, but it was only moments before his chest heaved again and threw himself forward, mouth open and pointed at the ground. Dorian placed a hand on his back, there was nothing more than could be done. He hacked and gagged, and thick liquid began dripping down from his lips and splattered gently on the ground.  
  
“Maker…” He managed to curse between hacks, and Dorian was expecting to smell vomit. But no— the prominent scent, he found, was that of blood. Dorian’s eyes widened. He’d thrown-up blood.  
  
“Are you sure you—.” Dorian began, but he didn’t get another word out before the man nearly collapsed in his own vomit, only stopped when Dorian managed to catch him. “Hey!” Dorian shouted, rolling his face over to look at him. His eyes were closed, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He’d passed out.  

Dorian was a connoisseur of knowledge and literature, mostly history, mostly concerning magic. But in many cases current events that would certainly make history as well. He’d seen the sketches and drawings of the man who supposedly single-handedly destroyed the Kirkwall chantry.  “Dorian!” He made out Adaar’s voice, shouting from somewhere outside the cave. “Dorian, where the hell are you?” She called.  
  
Dorian panicked in his mind. The reasons why this man didn’t want to be taken in for medical help under any circumstances were clear now, but if he left him here he would surely die.  

If he brought him along, he would have to be judged by the Inquisition. Dorian wasn’t sure what that would mean for him, or even what it should mean for him. But he did have faith in Inquisitor Adaar’s care for mages, and her distaste for their bad treatment, support of the rebel mages. If any force would show mercy to this man, it was the Inquisition.  
  
More importantly, who knew how much longer he had to live without full treatment?  
  
“I’m here!” Dorian shouted, and gently lay the man down.  
  
_Anders._  
  
That was his name. 


	2. Blood Magic and Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanted to thank everyone who left Kudos and especially who commented on the first chapter! You all really inspired me to write this and it means a lot because I've been kind of on a slump with writing my own fics for a while, and seeing the interest, even in just such a small amount of writing and introduction made me feels so good!
> 
> This chapter is fairly dialogue-heavy as there are a fair amount of character introductions and re-introductions, but the next should be a bit more exciting!
> 
> (Lore side-note: I'm kind of anal about the "altus" vs. "magister" thing with Dorian but I couldn't find a place for it to be mentioned in this chapter, but it will vaguely later on. I imagine Anders has studied Tevinter culture quite a bit so he's probably familiar with the term as it is.)

Dorian gathered up the man’s things and managed to fit them in his pack, minus the staff. The man didn’t have much, just the blanket he was sleeping under and a few basic supplies. Dorian did note that he didn’t find any food among the items.  
  
“Dorian!” He heard Sera’s voice next, and then fast foot-steps that continued until they stopped a few feet from the cave. “Dorian?  
  
“Here!” He called again, and she turned her head to where the sound came from. She could make out the vague silouhette as he was down on his knees, seemingly gathering something.  “What the hell are you—.” She stepped in toward him, and then stopped. “Is that a body?”  
  
“No. He’s alive.” Dorian said over his shoulder. “Bring Blackwall, he’ll need to be carried.”  
  
“Oh, piss.” Without hesitation turned on her heel and ran back to gather the others.  
  
o-o-o  
  
Avraa ended up being the one to carry the mage-- that was as much information as Dorian had given them, that he was a mage. Avraa became immediately concerned at this information and scooped him up into her arms.  
  
His head lulled back, his face fully displayed under the moonlight.  For a moment Dorian was sure she saw more than the face of just any mage in it. But she said nothing, and quickly started to head back to camp.  
  
"I saw the rogue templars in the area." Dorian said. " I suspect they were hunting this mage."  
  
Avraa hummed. "A lot of templars after just one mage." She said, and her eyes shifting meaningfully to Dorian.  
  
"He looks kind of old, and he's half dead." Sera commented. "Do these piss-ant templars always gang up on mages who can barely defend themselves?”  
  
"It's not unlikely." Dorian answered. "But he may be more powerful than we realized."  
  
"Is that why there's blood dripping from the sides of his mouth?" Blackwall commented, and Avraa immediately shifted his weight him her arms to look at his face with concern.  
  
"We should move faster." She said.  
  
Sera seemed a little shaken. "Maybe it's better if he dies? Who knows who he is? What he'll do when he wakes up?"  
  
"No." Avraa was a little too insistent, and Dorian's suspicions arose further. "In fact, I'll move faster and quieter on my own. Meet me back at the recent camp."  
  
"What? Are you serious?" Sera barked. "Inky!" She shouted angrily after the other woman, "Don't leave me here with these..." She sounded overly distraught as she gestured weakly to Blackwall and Dorian. Avraa stopped, and turned back to her. "I'm sorry Sera. I promise I'll see you at camp."  
  
Sera frowned hard at her. "You'd better." She said, voice cracking as she stamped her foot. It wasn't that she had a problem being alone-- never had, not once. She was always alone.  
  
It was just...  
  
"We should hurry too." Dorian said. "I don't fancy meeting that group of templars again. They looked blood-thirsty."  
  
"Right." Sera said, nodding and quickly falling into step with him, simultaneously trying to catch her breath. "Back to camp. Where she is."  
   
"She'll be fine, Sera."  
  
"Shut it."  
  
o-o-o-o-o  
  
Avraa wasn't well-versed in healing magic, and some of it seemed to have already been applied. But she knew that even the medics at the camp wouldn't be able to stop this. She needed to get him back to Haven, fast.  
   
She's promised she'd meet Sera there, and she didn't want to break that. But the rest of her party was yet to arrived and it wasn't safe for her to send him without her accompanying him. Not with Cullen there.  
  
o-o-o  

“He’s gone?” Dorian said, his mind in a slight panic. He’d asked the requisition’s officer about the sick man, and she’d told him the Inquisitor had started back to Haven with a small party and an injured mage.  
  
There was a loud clash of metal against the hard ground to his right. He looked to find Sera having knocked over some of the collected goods next to the requisition table in a fit of rage. “She’s gone?”  The officer that had given her the information was all but cowering. Dorian turned back to the requisition officer. “How long ago did they leave?”  
  
“Recently, but they took the last of the horses and the carriage. You could catch them on foot, but only if you cut paths and there’s zombies and bog in-between them.”  
  
Dorian considered this with a slight, distant nod, and his gaze drifted off in thought. She must’ve known— or had an idea of who he was. He was a little worried, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe just that he’d gone through all the trouble to save the man and now who knew what fate he would meet when faced with the Inquisition’s judgement.  

 _And_ he’d promised not to turn him over, but it was out of his hands now.

  “Sera.” He approached the elf after Blackwall had been shoved off of her. “If she left, you know it was for a good reason.”  
  
Sera glared at the floor. “Of course I know that.” She spat, though it didn’t seem to calm her. “We need to get back to Haven.” She said, decidedly. “I’m gonna have a few choice words for Lady-Sizzle-Fingers.” With that, she walked off in what he assumed she believed was the general direction of Haven  
  
“Sizzle fingers?” Blackwall questioned with a furrow of his eyebrows.  
  
“Don’t go there.” Dorian advised, watching after Sera, vaguely thinking they should probably catch up with her with supplies before she was half-way there on her own.  o-o-o  
  
Dorian knew when they arrived back at the gates to Haven that he’d have to wait to get a word in with the Herald. Sera had already stomped right on through and poor Adaar was likely in for a mouthful.  Surprisingly, not ten minutes later, he was ascending the staircase toward the Chantry and more specifically, the War Room, when he saw the two of them. Adaar was holding Sera up on her shoulders, and Sera was laughing and smiling like there hadn’t been steam emanating from her every quivering inch of skin not an hour ago.  Adaar spotted Dorian as she walked, and gave him a meaningful, subtle nod before moving on. He took it that meant she wanted to talk with him as well, but she walked on. They must’ve had to finish their date.  
  
o-o-o  
  
It wasn’t until the next morning, outside of the small hut he’d been sleeping in, that Adaar approached Dorian. She looked exhausted— like she’d been up all night. But it was early, and they were alone.  
  
“Are you all right?” Dorian asked, slightly curious as to what had taken up all her time.  
  
She forced a smile, though it was somewhat sad, and sighed. “Sera wasn’t happy.”  
  
“…Sera?” Dorian asked.  
  
“Before I get into that, I should ask how much you know.” She said, taking a seat on one of the side-turned barrels near-by.  
  
Dorian was quiet for a few moments, not sure how to answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Is he awake?” He spoke in barely more than a whisper.  
  
Adaar shook her head slowly. “I only have one medical officer tending to him. I didn’t feel as if I could trust more than one— though, she doesn’t seem to have any recognition of her patient.”  
  
“What do you plan to do?” Dorian asked. “Surely you can’t be planning on helping a fugitive remain hidden as you have so far?”  
  
“And you?” She snorted. “You did the same.” Then she looked away. “I have my own reasons.”  
  
“Be careful.” Dorian said, a little harshly. “The only influence or status you have here is that thing on your hand. You can’t go making calls like this without telling anyone.”  
  
_“I have my own reasons.”_ She bit back. “I came to speak with you to find out how much you knew— clearly you know as well as I.”  
  
“And Sera?” Dorian asked, critically.  
  
“I don’t keep things from her.” She said, plainly.  
  
“How romantic.” He snorted slightly. “And she’s taking it how?”  
  
“She’s angry and afraid but she’s not spreading anything around.” Adaar shook her head. “She’s… also been helping. Grudgingly, but she has.”  
  
“She trusts you.” Dorian said. “Good to know you haven’t betrayed that.”  
  
“We fought all night.” She said, her voice cracking a little, and she sounded nervous. “We’ve never fought before.” She shut her eyes, shook slightly, and was looking off at something distant.  
  
Dorian considered carefully. She was so tall and so large in every way— it was easy to forget how young she was. “Why is this man so important to you, then?” Dorian asked, carefully. “Worth all of this? With Sera?”  
  
“That’s a long story.” She said, shaking her head. “I told her it last night and I’m not up for telling it again right this minute.” She stood. “But I do want you to come to the med ward with me, where he is. You’re the only other one besides us who knows.”  
  
Dorian agreed, with slight caution but more curiosity, and followed after her.  
  
o-o-o  
  
A young women was leaving the ward as they arrived, and she approached Adaar meaningfully, and with some nervousness. “M’lady…” She said, looking over her shoulder. “He’s… awake. But there’s… there’s something off about him.” She was shaking. “His eyes, his face— I wasn’t sure— but for a moment, I thought…” She shook her head, and gathered herself. “I know he’s a mage but I’ve never seen magic like that.”  
  
“Has he said anything?” Adaar asked.  
  
“No, M’lady, he’s been very quiet. Didn’t even answer when I asked if he was hungry.” She said.  
  
“Thank you.” She replied. “You’re relieved for now. I’ll send for you if I need anything.”  
  
She nodded in compliance, and skittered around them. Dorian noted that she seemed to be a mage herself.   He then turned back to Adaar, who started slowly toward the entrance. “Is he restrained in any way?”  
  
Adaar shook her head. “Not as of now. I’ve been considering a templar guard.”  
  
Dorian snorted. “That… would likely not end well from what I’ve heard.” He stroked the right side of his mustache. “Better a mage.”  
  
“Are you volunteering?”  
  
“Kaffas, no!” Dorian said. Absolutely not, he had much more important things to do— he was sure.  
  
o-o-o  
  
Anders frowned lightly, eyes lazily fixed on his lap in front of him. He’d managed to scare away the young mage girl who’d been helping him with help from Justice. He was surprised at the lack of any sort of guard— let alone templar supervision. Surely they didn’t just have one mage barely above the level of a circle’s apprentice keeping watch over him?  
  
He wasn’t dwelling on it that heavily— in fact, he didn’t care. He was sure that there could have been a templar in the room, threatening his life even, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to care.  
  
He heard them coming, talking outside. It was her— he’d heard her before he was awake, before he could speak, when he thought it may have been a dream. She was talking to another woman, about him. She’d implied a mind to protect him.  The second voice was the man from the cave— he couldn’t not recognize that Tevinter accent. When they arrived, he didn’t bother turning his head, or speaking.  
  
Adaar stepped toward him slowly, carefully. Not out of fear, he noted, more out of… what was that, consideration? This place must’ve been a joke. Justice seemed just as cautious and unprepared to act as he was.  
  
“Anders.” She addressed, and he twitched at the sound of his own name. He hated how quickly the last man to call him by his name came to mind. “You’re Anders, right?”  
  
He turned to her in slight annoyance, silent at first, just regarding her. His eyes flipped between them. “Is that still what they call me?” He asked. “I expected to have a lot of new names by now. Or is that followed by _“The Destroyer?”_  
  
Dorian snickered. “You give yourself too much credit.”  
  
“Dorian?” Adaar questioned with some objection. She’d planned to handle this a bit more diplomatically.  
  
“Hmm.” Anders hummed, though not amused. “I suppose in comparison to a _Tevinter Magister_ , yes.”  
  
“Such spite with those words.” Dorian approached, and sat down in the chair next to the bed that the healer had likely been using before. “Spoken like a true Southerner.”  
  
Anders snorted under his breath, and looked away again. “What do you want with me?” He asked.  
  
“You said you were meeting someone.” Dorian said, not missing a beat. “Back where I found you the other night.”  
  
“And you’re expecting me to just tell you who it is I’m meeting?”  
  
“I have a few guesses.” Dorian said.  
  
Anders scoffed. “If your guesses are based on that awful book Varric spread around, then you’re wrong. I’m not in contact with anyone from Kirkwall anymore.”  
  
Adaar stepped forward. “Varric Tethras is here, with the Inquisition.” She said. “You don’t want to speak to him?”  
  
“Absolutely not.” Anders said, with no explanation.  
  
Adaar narrowed her eyes with slight suspicion. “He doesn’t seem that fond of you either, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Varric?” Anders said, with a slight sarcastic laugh in his tone. “Not fond of me? Who’d have guessed?”  
  
“Either that or he has been keeping track of your location and is lying so Cassandra will not question him on your whereabouts.” Adaar offered.  
  
“Both are equally likely, but I don’t know the answer.” Anders said. “And I don’t dislike him, I just don’t want to see him.”  
  
“So he’s not the one you were supposed to meet with?” She confirmed.  
  
“Clearly not.”  
  
“I need to know who it was, in case they’re in the area.”  
  
“I’m not giving you any information.” Anders said, plainly. “Regardless of your intentions I fully expect to be executed by this Inquisition of yours, and talking won’t save me.”  
  
“You won’t be executed, talk or no talk.” Adaar said, very plainly. “I’m asking questions, not demanding answers.”  
  
Anders regarded her with quiet distrust for a few moments, then sighed. “So what am I then? Your dirty little secret?”  
  
Adaar didn’t answer that, she merely glared slightly, and then looked away. “I want to help you, Anders.” She said. “I think we both have something to offer each other.” She didn’t let him get a word in before she went on. “I don’t expect anything of you right now, I just came to see how you’re doing.”  
  
“Well in that case good morning, nice to see you. What? No “get well soon” card and flowers?” Anders pouted slightly, and Dorian may have laughed, wiping the smile of his face quickly when he was thereafter addressed.  
  
“Dorian.” Adaar said, firmly. “May I speak to you outside?”  
  
Dorian looked over his shoulder in askance, not sure what she could need, but confirmed, and followed her out.  
  
“I want to talk to Varric.” Was the first thing she said. “They knew each other…”  
  
“With all due respect, Varric seems to absolutely despise that man for being irredeemably naughty even by Varric’s standards.” Dorian replied, with equal parts sarcasm and criticism. “I don’t feel as if he’d be very cooperative.”  
  
“I don’t think he does.” Adaar said. “I think it’s an act.”  
  
“That’s a long shot.”  
  
“I want to know if Anders was meeting with Hawke.” She spoke her mind. “Varric likely already knows the answer to that, and even if he doesn’t, he’s probably our best bet for figuring it out.”  
  
“Why are you interested in Hawke?”  
  
“Cassandra is.” Adaar said. “If I could find him and get those brownie points with her, I might have a better shot at saving his life.”  
  
“The mage’s life, you mean?” Dorian said, and then sighed. “I am increasingly curious about this story of yours that makes a fugitive stranger so important to you.”  
  
“Very well. Do you want me to keep an eye on him?” He offered.  
  
“For now, yes. Thank you.” She replied. “I’ll be back with an update.”   
With that, she left him. Dorian gave a heavy sigh, and turned back into the ward. He re-entered the room alone, and Anders regarding him suspiciously.  
  
“She’s gone to tell Varric.” Dorian admitted immediately and Anders sighed harshly, and shook his head.  
  
“Why did you bring me here?” He spat.  
  
“You were dying.” Dorian said.  
  
“I wasn’t.” Anders barked back. “Justice makes me stronger than other humans, and I’m an excellent mage with spirit healing. I would have made it.” He gritted his teeth. “I just needed to see that man…”  
  
“Justice. That’s the spirit inside you, yes?” Dorian was equally curious about “that man” as he was half-convinced it was someone other than Garrett Hawke. But he chose to leave it alone for now.  
  
Anders nodded slowly as he lifted one hand to look at it in thought. “Yes, he’s part of me.” He confirmed, opening and closing his fingers in and out of a fist.  
  
"Fascinating." Dorian said. "I don't recall reading much up on joining with spirits. In the imperium, they're often slaves. It would be undignified if nothing else."  
  
Anders looked back at him with cold, critical eyes, not amused or interested in the prospect at all. Static blue may have flashed across his face for a moment but Justice didn't show himself.  
  
Dorian either ignored it or failed to notice.  
  
"Does he influence you? Control your actions?"  
  
"He can take control of my body." Anders answered, a little grudgingly and knowing Justice would disapprove of his unsealed lips. "I've better come to terms with that when he does it than I used to be."  
  
"As far as influence... he's changed me, motivated me. I'm not sure what's mine and what's his anymore."  
  
"So it's subtle, if there." Dorian sounded like he was taking notes, and Anders was growing a little irritated. He and Justice weren't a research topic. They were just themselves, and Anders knew little beyond that.  
  
The things he knew of himself and Justice in the past were faded, and he was left with uncertainty for who or what he was, but he preferred that.  
  
"Why did you join with this spirit, exactly?"  
  
"He was--... is my friend." Anders said gently, and thoughtfully.  
  
"Interesting." Dorian seemed genuinely fascinated and if Anders has known how to sic Justice on someone he would have.  
  
Silence fell between them, perhaps the man had sensed his displeasure with the interrogation.  
  
"So..." Anders had some questions of his own. "Tevinter..." He knew, he knew it couldn't have been as bad as the stories said. Chantry propaganda to condemn a land ruled by mages to condemn mages.  
   
"Ah yes, everyone down south is always so intrigued by it all." Dorian said, somewhat smugly. "I've been lucky if I could get someone asking about it without that typical disgusted sneer."  
   
"At the moment I have a neutral but curious stance." Anders said. "I'm wondering how many of the horror stories are true."  
  
"All of them, very likely." Dorian said, his voice shrinking only slightly. "But the problem with the south is that's all you hear. You don't hear of the culture, our ways." He went on. "I left Tevinter because it has problems-- a lot of problems-- but there is certainly potential."  
  
"A man once told me any magister of any stature is a blood mage." Anders said. "Is that true?”  
  
Dorian hummed, and shifted his weight. "In Tevinter, "blood magic" carries a different weight. It's illegal in theory-- but small spells that you use your own blood for are accepted. In Tevinter it depends on the level of blood magic. Using the blood of an unwilling participant-- or maker forbid, murdering someone for their blood-- will, again, in theory, get you thrown out on your arse. The worst. Any magister would denounce you for it on site."  
   
"But everyone who's anyone has likely done it-- using the blood of slaves, their enemies, you name it. If you don't, you don't get anywhere, and if you try to speak out against those who've committed the crime, you're likely to be branded maleficar yourself."  
  
"So it's true." Anders said, the back of his neck tingling slightly. He hadn't expected it to be quite so true.  
  
"It is." Dorian nodded, gently. "But that's at the top, where the power is. There are those of us who would fight to expose it for what it truly is."  
   
"Clearly you count yourself among them."  
  
Dorian laughed gently. “I _did_ , at least. But I left." He said, neglecting to expand further on the subject. "I've since run into larger issues when my ex-mentor, who before also sympathized with those who would see my homeland improved did a complete turn-around and joined the Venatori. I felt responsible to assist in stopping him, and now here I am fixing a hole in the sky as well. Funny how things work out."  
  
"Venatori?" Anders questioned.  
  
Dorian snickered. "You really are outside the whole loop aren't you?"  
  
Anders narrowed his eyes slightly. "I've had my own problems."  
  
"I'd noticed that last night." Dorian nodded. "Not a lot is known about the Venatori just yet, but we're sure to keep you updated."  
  
"But they are Tevinter?"  
  
Dorian let out a short, sharp, "Ha!" "An evil organization that follows a would-be god who's hell-bent on destroying the world? Where else could they be from?"  
  
Anders gave a shrug, and then moved on.  
  
”So then, I heard another rumor about Tevinter." He spoke slowly. "That every magister and noble owns slaves."  
  
"Every noble family." Dorian said. "I didn't personally, but my family does. They're treated well."  
  
Anders wasn't surprised, but couldn't help the slight ironic snort that came out. _"They're treated well."_ He mocked.  
  
"That's the typical reaction down here." Dorian said. "Meanwhile in the south you condemn anyone who does not have the resources to support themselves to a life of starvation and poverty. Especially the elves."  
  
Anders had a number of retorts on his tongue-- how does that change what slavery is? How can you justify turning your attention away from your own problem by pointing out someone else's?  
   
But none of them made there way past his lips, as a moment later, he became only a spectator in their conversation.  
  
_"Fool! You know nothing of the suffering in the name of slavery justifications such as yours!"_  
   
Dorian nearly fell back out of his chair at the sight of the other man's face and the way his voice boomed as if it were inside his own head. He nearly stood to escape, but quickly realized the other man remained bedridden.  
  
_"Your kind have sullied the names of mages who would require your aid, you sit by and assist in their condemnation by excusing crimes such as these!"_

" _You deserve the wrath of the world as you receive it! It would only be justice!"_  
  
Dorian was half-certain he should have expected such an outburst from a combination of men who'd fought for the freedom of mages. One of them being a spirit of justice, no less.  
  
_"I have seen the man who suffered at hands the likes of yours!"_  
  
A moment later, the blue faded, and Anders was once again seated before Dorian, but not looking less displeased or threatening than Justice had. He brought his hand gently to his head-- and Dorian observed it quietly and critically.  
   
Varric may have simply exaggerated, but Dorian knew in the book he described the transition between the two of them as appearing extremely painful for Anders when returning to himself. In this instance it appeared as little more than a slight twinge of a headache.  
  
"I apologize." Dorian said, carefully. "I received the same reaction for similar words from our dear Herald. It seems advantageous to hold my tongue on the subject from now on."  
  
"Yes." Anders bit back with no sympathy. He was glad for Justice's aggression-- he himself felt too tired and worn to argue. Justice only needed a few moments to make him back down.  
  
"I'll rethink my stance." Dorian said, though Anders wasn't sure he meant it. Either way he quickly stood after that, and walked toward the exit with his shoulders back and head high, but tripped on a chair half-way there and stumbled.  
   
Anders had to laugh under his breath, especially as he reasserted his posture directly after as if nothing happened. He disappeared outside the door, and it shut gently behind him.  o-o-o  
  
Dorian was admittedly a little shaken, standing outside the ward with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to look stiff or casual or something in between.  
   
He didn't necessarily like or approve of slavery or the concept of it-- but he knew he held tightly to the few defenses of his homeland that he had left, and he knew it was what the rest of Thedas primarily condemned Tevinter for. Perhaps he even knew it was truly the worst of his homeland and didn't want to face it. But he'd never been challenged on his repetition of his father's words and flawed logic before.  
  
At any rate, he hoped the subject would be dropped for now, because he could see the Herald on her way back with Varric, and her reaction had been only slightly less terrifying than Justice's.  
  
The first thing out of her mouth when they approached Dorian was "He figured it out."  
  
Wonderful. Dorian thought. It was becoming clearer and clearer that their newly appointed hero could most definitely not keep a secret.  
  
"So blondie's in there." Varric said, quietly, and with what appeared to be slight nervousness. "You said he's all right, but... should I avoid certain words? Like "broken" or "internal bleeding?"  
  
"He'll recover, Varric." Aavra nodded to him in reassurance, and Varric’s sigh was hoarse.  
  
"All right." He said. "I'll talk to him. But as a friend, not as your interrogator. And I can't promise any information."  
  
"I understand." Aavra nodded with acceptance, and with that, Varric went inside.  
   
o-o-o  
  
Anders wasn't surprised when Varric was the next one to walk through that door. He was cautious-- he hadn't gotten a clear picture on what Varric thought of him after Kirkwall. The book had been ambiguous on solid author opinion. But he did know if nothing else there was at least some disapproval for his actions from Varric-- or at least there had been back then.  
   
He was quiet up to the point that he sat down in that same chair all of his esteemed visitors seemed to take. "Hey Blondie." He said, his voice a little less than the usual upbeat Varric, but not worrisome.  
  
"Hello Varric." Anders said, just as gently. The use of the nickname may have broken down his guard more than he was prepared for.  
  
There was a stretch of silence between them— not awkward, just silent. "I'm surprised you're still alive." Varric finally said.  
  
"Not disappointed, I hope." Anders baited, and Varric returned it with a chuckle.  
  
"Of course not, pleased if anything. I’m not a big fan of death, I don't like to see it happen to anyone." There was meaning in Varric's eyes, and Anders only shook his head and looked away from him. He didn't want or need to argue here.  
   
"Are you in contact with Hawke?" He asked.  
   
"Don't tell Cassandra." Varric said, and Anders's eyes held confusion on the name. "Scary woman with a big sword and black hair.” He snickered. “You'll be lucky if you never meet her.”  
  
Anders still looked confused, and Varric sighed and returned to his question.  
  
“Yes.” he said. “He was all right last I heard. He's helping refugees from the breach a little further north, but he's keep his name under wraps. Goes by "Garrett Carver" now, so it's all a big secret." He waved his hands in a lazy, pseudo-dramatic sort of manner.  
  
"I suppose he's hard to mistake either way with a tattooed, white-haired elf like the one from the tale glued to his side." Anders offered, and Varric paused, but nodded.  
  
"That's true." Varric said. "Fenris tries not to make a scene-- but I use the word "try" loosely. Hawke says he at least hasn't glowed in a while."  
  
Anders nodded, he was glad to hear that Hawke was all right. In the months he'd spent without a way to contact anyone, he'd and thought about him every day. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Hawke would always get by. Every moment that Anders knew Hawke was evidence that he’d get by. But he still worried.  
  
"Do you want me to tell him you're here?" Varric offered.  
  
"No." Anders said, not missing a beat.  
  
Varric sighed. "He's been asking about you. Worried, telling me to spread out my contacts further to keep an eye out for you." Varric laughed ironically. “He over-estimates my power.”  
  
"I don't want to see him." Anders asserted. He knew that first word Hawke got of his location, he'd come running.  
   
"He doesn't know if you're even alive."  
  
"He's fine." Anders bit, and Varric paused in distaste, and then shook his head.  
  
"I'm glad you're all right, Blondie. At least you picked the right army to get kidnapped by.”  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Anders asked.  
  
Varric's lips quirked into a tiny smile and he laughed gently. "The mages are free here." He said, talking with his hands again as he gestured to the area around him. "The rebel mages joined with the inquisition, and they walk around with a say like everyone else."  
  
Anders's eyes widened slightly, and he blinked.  
  
His eyes then narrowed slightly again in disbelief. “No circle?”  
  
“No circle. A chantry, and a few ex-templars, but there's a strong emphasis on the “ex” with most of them.” Varric added. "Just people being treated like people." He started toward the door.  
  
"Anyway, I thought you might want to know. I'll talk to you later, blondie. Maybe I'll bring a drink.”  
  
Varric left him with that, and his eyes drifted back to his lap as he flexed his scathed and cut fingers in and out of fists. The Herald of Andraste clearly had power here. He’d heard vaguely of this Inquisition— someone that could close the rifts, the savior of the people. She wasn’t what he would have expected. She was a mage, free mages walked in her ranks, and she had a Tevinter Magister among her closest companions. It fairly nontraditional, but he had proven himself not a fan of tradition.  
  
This wasn’t for him— nothing was anymore. But it was good for the world. It had to be.  
  
o-o-o-o-o


	3. Onward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who read and commented and left kudos! I'm so glad there continues to be an interest in this! Start of some excitement boiling up here-- maybe the petals of a developing romance between our protagonists... you decide. Either way, I hope you continue to enjoy! The next chapter is mostly a bunch of excitement (in other words I'm excited for it) but this seemed like a good spot to pause!

Three days passed and by the way no enraged templars had come crashing through the door, Anders assumed the secret had remained relatively secret. He’d been bored, and tired even though all he did was sleep.   
  
For a day and a half all he did was lie there alone, he even humored the idea of trying to ask Justice things. Little, stupid things like his favorite color or if he liked cheese. He didn’t answer— even when Anders tried asking in his head. He did feel something though, like some kind of frustration that wasn’t his and realized Justice likely found these questions to be a waste of breath. He was able to laugh gently.    
  
Most of the time he didn’t do anything. Listened to voices outside and tried to make them out— but couldn’t. He could hear swords clanging at a distance and wondered if it was just more training or if they were under attack. He wasn’t struggling to survive but he also didn’t feel quite safe. He was bed-ridden, not locked up, but it still felt like a prison. Especially knowing that if he were capable of walking out the door he could be arrested if anyone recognized him.    
  
It seemed like it would drag on like this for days. Until the following evening, Dorian brought books. Apparently Justice hadn’t entirely scared the man away— in fact when he came back, he came back a little stronger. He didn’t stay, but he prattled out the summaries of the books he brought in with full-confidence and with no shortage of sarcastic criticism. He’d often go further in-depth than one would think necessary, clearly getting carried away listening to his own voice speak. But Anders didn’t really mind the sound of it either.  
  
Of course, all the books were of magical subjects. Many of them he’d never read.  
  
He didn’t return much to the conversation, naturally he didn’t have much to say about books he hadn’t read or hadn’t read in a while. The only thing he felt urged to ask was why Dorian went out of his way to bring him entertainment. Their first encounter hadn’t exactly been one that established friendship, and it wasn’t as if Anders was the only mage in Haven.  
  
Still, it made the last day-and-a-half of him being bed-ridden more bearable, as he read through book after book, finding himself able to sit up further and further with each one he closed.  
  
Finally, he tested his ability to stand. He didn’t feel as dizzy, or nauseated anymore, in fact, he felt as though he could walk strong. He wondered how dangerous it would be to step outside. He’d never seen or heard the door locked, and he could do with some fresh air.    
  
He was standing on two feet when they walked in.  
  
“Piss, he’s standing up?” Sera didn’t seem legitimately alarmed, more likely mockingly. She strolled over to a bench near the far wall and took a seat. “Doesn't it make it easier to blow things up when they can stand?”  
  
“They?” Adaar questioned.  
  
Sera shrunk slightly, as did her voice. “I mean… just, the bad ones? You know…” She tried underneath Adaar’s slightly offended or critical gaze. “It’s just creepy.” She looked away, and Adaar didn’t press.  
  
Anders had only met the young elf girl twice, and all he’d been able to make of her was that she didn’t like him. Which, wasn’t really a surprise or something he wasn’t used to. The general population disliking him was hardly new— just as old as being a fugitive, really. It was just for a different reason now.  
  
  “Do you need something?” Anders asked Adaar. The young mage had already brought him breakfast, and she didn’t have anything with her.    
  
“We’re closing the breach tonight.” Adaar said. “If it works, then this—,” she gestured to him, and then around the room. “My power in the Inquisition, it will fade. I won’t be useful anymore. Or at very least, not as.”  
  
“And?” Anders wasn’t sure what it had to do with him.  
  
“You should go.” She said. “It won’t be the same if they find you when I’m powerless, you won’t be safe here.”  
  
“Really?” Anders said with sarcasm. “I was beginning to feel right at home.”  
  
“Late tonight, after it’s over.” Adaar continued without regard.  
  
“Why do you trust me?” Anders squinted. He was a wanted fugitive and she was an agent of the Inquisition. Assuming she was loyal to it— there had to be some diplomatic repercussions for setting free a fugitive that was charged with triggering a war.  
  
“I don’t.” She answered. “I don’t know you. But you were never a prisoner and if anyone else finds you, you will be.” She spoke simply. “I don’t believe you deserve that and I won’t be the reason it happens.”  
  
Anders took in these words with some caution. “I’m becoming more and more curious why you’ve set yourself apart from this. I’m not innocent, I did what they say I did.”  
  
Adaar wasn’t phased, and in fact her expression was nothing but irritated at the prospect that she didn’t understand this.  
  
Anders crossed his arms. “There must be some risk. I just want to know why I’m worth it.”  
  
“Only a risk if you get caught.” Sera chimed in.  
  
“It’s my business to help you, and yours to accept.” Adaar said, avoiding the question yet again. “I see you’ve stood up on your own, that’s good. Do you feel well enough to travel?”  
  
“I will by tonight.” Anders said, confirming that he would leave on her suggestion. It could have been a trap, but she already had him trapped. What point would there have been in that?  
  
“Good.” She returned with a sharp nod.  
  
“Thank you.” He said it with caution, but also some gratitude, and Adaar nodded again.  
  
“Sera will escort you out in case someone tries to stop you. She has strong standing as one of my companions with connections and won’t be questioned.”  
  
Anders’s eyes flicked to Sera. “Does she promise not to shoot me?”  
  
“Mmm, don’t give me ideas. I’ve heard about mages. Extra squishy.” She offered, and Anders crinkled his nose slightly, only half-sure she was kidding.  
  
Before he could make any further objections, half-hearted as they were planned to be, the door creaked open, and fell shut.  
  
“Thought I’ve find you here.” Dorian Pavus’s continued, peculiar habit of strolling in like he owned the place had again made itself known. “The mages are ready. Cassandra is looking for you, and I thought it’d be better if she didn’t happen to wander in here.”  
  
"I should go." Adaar said with some urgency, and Sera immediately hopped up from her seat.  
  
“I’m staying here.” She announced, and Anders looked to her in displeased askance. “Well not here, here. Haven. Already know arrows don’t work on that.” Her eyes gestured upward toward the sky.  
  
“Come on, Sera.” Adaar prodded. “On the off chance something goes wrong, I’ll at least want a kiss.”  
  
With that she turned to exit, and Sera rolled her eyes at Dorian’s smirk but was grinning as she left.  
  
"Be back for you later, Magey!" She tossed Anders a wave as she followed Adaar out of the small home.  
  
Dorian turned back to Anders, noting that he was finally on his feet. He took a few steps closer and then gave pause. He looked better than he had before. There was more color to his skin, and he was still thin but the cracks were filled. And he was shirtless.  
  
“No books this time?” Anders asked, crossing his arms teasingly and puffing his chest a little. Dorian snickered under his breath as he strolled over casually. This was the first time he’d noticed just how tall Anders was. Only a few inches shorter than Adaar it seemed— and there was nothing short about that.  
  
“Unfortunately that’s the last of anything worth reading that's lying around here.” He replied. Anders was shirtless with only bandages covering certain areas. Dorian couldn’t say he didn’t like the long, lean look, and he was skilled at not allowing another man to notice if his eyes betrayed him to wandering. That was, unless he wanted them to.  
  
The man was leaving, tonight. And any flirting, returned or not, would only result in disappointment.  
  
“You’re welcome to keep those.” Dorian spoke, maybe just to keep his mind from wandering, gesturing to the stack of books he’d left before. “And I’m only saying that because they don’t belong to me, and I don’t imagine them being missed.”  
  
“Thanks for leaving them.” Anders sat back down on the edge of the bed. He was still fatigued from so many days of lying in bed, and he had more than enough time before nightfall. “I read as much as I could in the circle, but most of the books there just told you how awful and scary magic is in ten different ways. How to control it, not use it practically.”  
  
“Chantry approved, I presume.” Dorian offered, and Anders nodded.  
  
“Only the best to remind the little mages that they don’t deserve happiness. Or a real life.” He glared down at his hands at the memory. “I had access to better materials when I got out— though I’ve always been a gifted mage. But even then I spent a lot of time picking apart that Chant of Light and writing my own material as opposed to reading. These did bring fourth some interesting new topics.”

  “Glad to be of service!” Dorian bowed, and sad down in the chair next to him. “I take it you’re religious, then.”  
  
“Andrastian, yes. But like Tevinter, I believe she was a mage.” He then paused, and laughed gently. “Maker. It must seem ironic coming from someone who blew up a Chantry.”  
  
Dorian hummed, and shifted in his seat. “There’s an importance in differentiating religion from religious organization. Groups operate on speculation, and often greed. There’s inner debate but rarely any real change in their establishment. Individuals operate on faith, and the two aren’t always allies.”  
  
Anders was silent for a few moments. He didn’t disagree, but that also didn’t mean he was still welcome by whatever faith he had. “And you?” He asked, perhaps to change the subject. “Are you religious?”  
  
“To a point.” Dorian gave a small, almost uncertain nod. “We’d have some interesting exchanges on the subject, I’d wager. But it seems you’ll be leaving soon.”  
  
“Tonight.” Anders confirmed. He found himself slightly eager to.  
  
“Do be careful.” Dorian advised, or perhaps requested. “The last thing I want is to happen upon your corpse among those of the templar’s other victims.”  
  
“I’m still meeting someone, remember?” Anders said with confidence and a small smile. “He’s not the sort of someone you worry won’t have your back.”  
  
Dorian gave a nod. “Then I wish you luck in reaching him.” He said. Despite Anders’s insistence to the contrary, he remained suspicious that the man he was meeting was Garrett Hawke. There was just something about their relationship as it had been written in Varric’s book- something suggestive.  
  
"I've always been curious..." Dorian started. The book had been ambiguous about relationships all together, and read without a clear love-interest. But it couldn’t hurt to ask.  
  
"Were you and Hawke..."

  
Anders's eyes widened when he realized what Dorian was about to ask.   
  
"No." He interrupted, bluntly.  
  
"Oh?" Dorian blinked "Sorry." He apologized quickly, seeing that he'd struck a nerve.   
  
"We were friends." Anders said, with some bite. "There may have been something more but he chose someone else." Anders sub-consciously started to lie back down. Dorian watched him pull the covers up over his shoulder, and turn away. "And he's better off." His voice wad quieter.   
  
With consideration to the fact that he may have just stepped in it, Dorian started to stand.   
  
"I'll let you rest." He said. "I assume you have a long night ahead."   
  
Anders didn't feel a need to say anything back, and it felt odd to as he was facing a wall, so he didn't. He listened to Dorian's footsteps as they left, and then the sound of the door gently shutting.  
  
o-o-o-o  
  
Anders didn't have many belongings. It seemed as if someone had half-assedly rooted through his pack but to his memory they'd put back everything where it belonged. He had his robes, which he managed to put back on and still wore well.  
  
Adaar had given him some Inquisitor tailored robes, but they didn’t fit well. Too short and too thick but if anything happened to the ones he was wearing now they would come in handy.   
  
He got his things together when he noticed the sun going down. He could hear cheerful music as if someone were throwing a party-- they must've succeeded in getting rid of the hole in the sky. What other reason would there be for celebration?  
  
He’d been told to be ready by nightfall, so once he’d gotten his things together, he pulled up his hood and walked to the door with his things to show he was ready. Sera arrived, walking in without so much as a knock not five minutes later. She was expected, but the dwarf was a surprise.   
  
"Varric?" Anders questioned.   
  
"Nice to see you on your feet." Varric greeted. "I'm not sure of the chances of seeing you alive again Blondie, so I wanted to say good-bye."   
  
Anders smiled lopsidedly. "I'll live. Or at least I've had a good track record for escaping death so far."

  
Varric gave a gentle nod.  “A few days from now I'm going to tell Hawke you were here, just so he knows you're okay." He watched Anders's face for objection, but found none. "I promise I won't tell him which way you went."   
  
Anders felt his heart beat faster, but also warmly, and his smile was sincere, but painful. "Thank you, Varric."   
  
"No problem. Now you should get moving before Buttercup starts complaining about missing the party again." He said.   
  
“I was not." Sera grumbled, and Varric laughed her off. "All right like he said, let's move." She waved her arm to urge Anders on, and walked out the door.   
  
Anders kept his hood up to hold the shadows over his face as they walked. There were a few eyes on them, but not suspicious onlookers, just glances of acknowledgement before returning to the festivities. Sera lead him through areas with smaller crowd, keeping a casual pace. They didn't speak a word for the first half of the walk, but once they'd cleared most of the bystanders and were close to the gate, Sera spoke up.  
   
"Hey." She said.   
  
"...Hey?" Anders questioned.   
  
She sighed with some frustration. ”Don't die, all right?" She stopped to turn to him at the gate. "Dangerous out there, and Inky likes you; can’t tell you why. But I like her. So don't die."   
  
She removed the small pack she was holding over her shoulder, and held it out to him by the strap. "These supplies should last a bit. Varric told me to tell you "don't give it all away to any refugees."" She used her best Varric voice- and it was quite good. "Whatever that means.”   
  
Anders’s lips quirked into a smile at the sentiment, and he thanked her as he took it and slung it over his shoulder.  
  
"Don't look at the guards, just keep walking.” Sera advised. “And don't die." She repeated, quietly as she pushed it open. Anders nodded to her in receive, and when the large doors creaked open, he stepped out.   
  
He was paranoid until he reached the trees. That one of the guards by the gate would follow after him, call out to him, or that maybe he'd just be shot. Once he was among the nearby pines and tucked into them amidst the dark of the night, he was able to relax.   
  
Still, he kept his pace. He was a few days from Redcliffe now, and he'd be late but in better health, at least. His miraculous strokes of luck never failed to surprise him, but he wasn't about to start objecting to them.  
  
He was well into the thin pine forests one the mountainsides when he heard a rustling sound to his left, and turned suddenly to look. He didn't see anything-- no person nor animal-- but he was sure he heard something. He started to walk again, but he’d only taken a few steps before he heard something else.  
  
 _"They sent you away."_ A voice-- young, soft, gentle-sounding. It sounded from behind him. He paused, and turned slowly to face it.  
  
"Who are you?" Anders asked with some demand.   
  
"They shouldn't have." It was a boy-- couldn't have been a day over eighteen. He shook his head with what seemed to be distress as he approached, coming a little too close. "I'm Cole. It's not safe out here."  
  
"I can handle myself." Anders backed away with caution. Cole stopped moving toward him at the sign of his fear.   
  
"Please. Don't go that way." He said.  
  
"What's that way?" Anders asked with suspicion but also urgency. The boy was starting to set him on edge.   
  
" _Clanging metal armor, shouting, marching… thousands of footprints in the snow. Lyrium without magic, but- not the usual way._ " He looked at Anders again desperately.  
  
 _Lyrium without magic?_ Anders's eyes widened. "Templars?" _Templars were marching on Haven?_   
  
"It's not safe.” The boy strained his voice.  
  
“Why are you here?” Anders asked. The boy didn’t seem like a mage, what business did he have warning people about templars?  
  
“It’s an army.” Cole said, and then his eyes widened further. “There’s no time!” He was starting to sound panicked. “Up the hill!” He pointed, his breath coming out in pants. “I’ll show you!” With that, he took off running up the slope of the cliffside in the very direction he’d begged Anders not to go. Decidedly, Anders followed after him. It didn’t take long to reach the top, but he could hear the sound of a hundred voices and metal-armed footsteps before he reached the top and could see them.  
  
They were still a walk from Haven, but they were well past the frostback’s doorstep. Cole wasn’t exaggerating— it was an army, and they were moving fast.  
  
“They’re red.” Anders observed. A good number of them were wearing some sort of red armor— not the usual templar armor, but then others were identifiable as templars even from a distance.  
  
“Like the lyrium.” Cole said, sounding more as if he were musing than offering information.

  Anders couldn’t pretend for a moment that an army of templars didn’t have a reason to attack the Inquisition— an organization that _sheltered free mages_. He remembered the music— the celebration back at Haven. No one there was anywhere near prepared for this! If scouts had caught wind of it they would have been preparing hours ago.  
  
They needed to be warned!  
  
“Go.” Cole’s voice was what triggered him into turning on his heel, and racing back down the hillside toward Haven’s gates. He’d walked for what may have been ten or fifteen minutes, so the base wasn’t far. Still, they were so close, he wasn’t sure he’d make it in time to make a difference.  

But it had to be better than nothing.  
  
o-o-o


	4. Same Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so late! I've just been a bad place for writing for the past few weeks, but I'm still really excited about and interested in this story, so I hope some of you are still around! Thanks again, so much, for reading!

The spot where the guard had formerly stood at the front gate was vacant when Anders arrived within sight of them. The guard had either taken a bathroom break or had snuck off to join the festivities, but it was fair to assume the gates were locked from the inside.  
  
There weren’t any watchtowers or anything similar-- Haven wasn’t exactly a fortress and he hadn’t noticed until now. They weren’t just going to be taken by surprise. They were going to lose.  
  
He hurried across the clearing between the pines and the gates, and slammed his hands and body hard against the center. They barely budged but it made a loud noise that had to draw some attention.  
  
“Open the gates!” He shouted, banging harder against them. “They’re coming! The templars!” He didn’t realize how out of breath he was until his voice cracked halfway through the shout. He may have recovered for the most part but his lungs suddenly felt heavy.  
  
The gates opened as he leaned against them to keep his balance, and he stumbled inside, catching himself on someone’s arm, who caught him and held him up.  
  
He cleared his burning throat as best he could. “It’s an army.” He said, breath heaving as he raised his head to look at who was keeping him on his feet.  
  
Their eyes met, and the recognition on both sides was instant.  
  
Anders’s eyes went from something like worried and full of urgency to touched by a cruel sense of irony. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He said, sourly.  
  
“You!” Cullen shoved him off, and he stumbled backward only to be caught by someone else. He looked up to find the Herald, looking down at him with some criticism in her eyes.  
  
“Arrest him!” Cullen spat, pointing at him. “He’s the one, from Kirkwall! He destroyed the Chantry!”  
  
“What was what about templars?” Adaar asked him quickly, probably knowing that Cullen’s men were about to drag him off. Had Anders known that the templars had apparently infiltrated the Inquisition’s ranks, he would have stayed clear. So much for Varric and the word “ex.”  
  
Anders pushed himself off of her, and stood up straight to turn to her. “They’re coming here, they’re only minutes away.” he said. “They had some kind of strange red armor, it looks like…” He trailed off… because, it couldn’t be. Could it?  
  
  
“Where’s Varric?” He asked quickly, Varric would know. Before Adaar could answer, Anders was being restrained from behind. He struggled and tugged against them, but not frantically.  
  
“Ask him about red lyrium!” Anders shouted as they pulled him back. “The armor looks like red lyrium!” They must’ve been templars because Anders could feel the weight against his use of magic. He wasn’t sure he wanted to attack them just yet anyway-- if he didn’t antagonize, perhaps the Herald would remain on his side and find him a way out of this.  
  
Adaar’s eyes widened at the words. “Red lyrium?” she said. She remembered the way it had affected Blackwall… and Sera.   
  
“Wait!” She commanded to the soldiers. They hesitated, surprisingly, as she was not their commanding officer. “I need him for information.” She ordered. “Cullen!” She shouted, and he looked to her with some apprehension. “You should ready the soldiers.”  
  
“You believe him?” He questioned, with some disbelief and some disgust.  
  
“We’re better off safe than sorry.” She said, stepping forward, and turned to the soldiers who held Anders. “Release him.”  
  
They hesitated and looked to their Commander for an official order. Cullen gave a swift decided nod in their direction, and they obeyed.  
  
Anders shook his wrists free of their hold and faced Adaar with question.  
  
“I fully expect you to get me out of this.” He said, straightening his robes.  
  
“Favor for a favor?” She offered as explanation for his boldness.  
  
“No, it’s just that you seem habit of it.” Anders replied. Cullen had already left the scene followed by his soldiers.  
  
“You took his mages.” A soft-spoken voice came from beside them, and they both looked. “He isn’t happy.” Cole finished.  
  
“Who are you?” Adaar demanded and took and aggressive stance.  
  
“It’s okay. He sent me to warn you.” Anders said, stepping up beside Cole in trust. He wasn’t sure where that came from, perhaps it wasn’t his. He’d never been so quick to trust a human and neither had Justice. But even he may have sensed the boy was perhaps, not quite human.  
  
“He couldn’t have done that himself?” Adaar asked, with suspicion.  
  
“I could.” Cole answered. “Faster in fact. But he would have died had I not given him a reason to come back.”  
  
Anders’s eyes narrowed in realization. Had he been too surprised to think of it?   
  
“You know…” He began, “When i came south I fully expected everyone I met to try and kill me, not save me.”  
  
“How many?” Adaar asked Cole, stepping up to him.  
  
“A lot. More than you can handle. Many will die.”  
  
“Pleasant.” Anders snickered.  
  
“Stay here, come find me at the sight of anything coming over that mountain. I have to find Sera.” Adaar said quickly. “Get out of the open, don’t let Cullen see you again.”  
  
After she was gone, Cole spoke.   
  
“She believes that if it gets bad, she’ll take the elf and run.”  He said.  
  
Anders snickered, with little surprise at the words. “Maybe we can hitch a ride on that wagon.” He mused.  
  
“There are many mages here.” Cole mentioned, and Anders gritted his teeth, “She won’t, though. She tells herself she will, but she’ll stay until the last one falls.”  
  
Anders squinted slightly in his direction and moved past him. “Come on.” He said.  
  
They hurried to the stables which were vacant and nearby. They could hear the clanging of boots as the Inquisition soldiers poured through the gates.  
  
Cole was crouched where Anders was, a little too close, and he was watching them over the other man’s shoulder.  
  
“There aren’t enough.” He said with obvious worry. “Not nearly.”  
  
Anders heaved a sigh at the information-- though he’d already assumed the issue.  
  
“Someone’s coming.” Cole said. “He saw me.”  
  
“Then get down!” Anders shouted in a whisper and pulled him down.  
  
“He knows you.” Cole clarified. “He came looking.”  
  
Well, that was better than Anders had feared. Varric, perhaps?  
  
“Are you all right?” The voice was unexpectedly smooth, graced his ears like soft music. “The Herald filled me in.”  
  
It was Dorian. Anders faced him quickly, and stood but stayed half-ducked. “You’re under attack.” He said.  
  
“Make that we. You’re stuck here now too.” Dorian said, crossing his arms over his chest, then gestured a nod toward Cole. “Who’s this?” He asked.  
  
“An ally.” Anders said. “The templar army will be here any min--”  
  
He cut himself off at the sound of war cries in the direction of the mountainside. They crossed the pique as they became visible from Haven’s border, then started over the slopes in a full charge, weapons raised.  
  
“How many? Dorian asked.  
  
“Hundreds-- maybe more.” Anders answered.  
  
“We have to get inside.” Dorian said. “You can’t be well enough to fight, and you don’t look like a soldier.” He spoke to Anders and then Cole respectively. “The others are formulating a plan, we should regroup with them.”   
  
Anders gave a nod, and Cole didn’t look like he planned to protest. So hurriedly, Dorian lead them both inside the gates toward where Adaar was sure to be.  
  
They’d only trekked halfway to the chantry when Dorian spotted Sera, Adaar, Blackwall, and a few others heading toward the gates. They didn’t seem to notice him, but he managed to catch Sera by the arm as she would have passed.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
Sera turned to him with some surprise. “We’re leading up the front.” She said, and Adaar stopped and backtracked to them as well.  
  
“Anders.” She addressed with urgency, and he looked to her. “You’re a healer.” It was a statement rather than a question. He nodded.  
  
“I don’t trust your condition on the front lines, but join the others in the medical tent and we’ll send some of the wounded your way.” She said, and Anders didn’t get a chance to confirm. He wasn’t used to being ordered around by strangers-- and he’d never taken well to it. Sure there was the warden commander, and then Hawke, but they were his friends.  
  
“Stay with him Dorian, make sure no one gives him any trouble.” With that, she turned on her heel to head for the front, receiving nothing but a not in return. Sera and Blackwall nodded in regard to them as well before following her toward the gates.  
  
o-o-o  
  
It didn’t take long for wounded soldiers to start pouring in-- whether limping or carried back from secured areas by fellow soldiers, they were far from few. Anders overheard from another soldier that the dead greatly outnumbered the wounded.  
  
He hadn’t been bothered by anyone here-- the nurses and other mages seemed grateful for him, as he was well beyond any of their level in healing. It was his specialty after all, and Justice had always seemed to harmonize with it as well. It wasn’t exactly easy-- but it had been a while since he’d used his abilities to help others.  
  
Dorian’s healing ability was barely existent, but he scrambled about, shouting at nurses who weren’t moving quickly enough or arguing with soldiers who came running to the tents with nothing but a shallow scratch while they still needed help at the front.   
  
Finally he seemed to tire himself out and he fell hard into the seat next to Anders. The bench shook, but it didn’t break Anders’s concentration. It was a deep cut to the soldier’s torso, but they’d likely be all right even without his help.  
  
“Have you lost any?” Dorian asked. When Anders looked at him, he was sweating almost as much as Anders was. Not from the exertion-- but from the stress, he presumed.  
  
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Anders asked, with a forced, half-hearted smugness. But his arms were shaking and the strands of hair that hung in his face that had fallen from those tied back stuck to his cheeks from all the sweat. Dorian’s eyes flicked to the many flasks with a few drops of liquid lyrium still left in the bottom.  
  
A little more seriously, Anders continued. “I’ve done what I can for the ones they’ve brought me.” His answer wasn’t decided.   
  
  
Dorian leaned forward, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good of you to be here.” He said, gently, which was a nice contrast from all the bite in his tone while dealing with the nurses and soldiers. “We’d lose many more without you, I’m sure.”  
  
Anders shook a little at the words, but forced himself a nod, and a small “no problem.” He didn’t belong here, he knew, and it didn’t feel right.  
  
“You’re not a secret anymore.” Dorian went on. “What are you going to do?”  
  
“If I make it out of this alive, you mean?”  
  
Before Dorian could answer, one of the higher ranking soldiers burst in shouting “Dragon! There’s a dragon!” He’d left before another word left his lips, but they could all hear him as he ran off. “Fall back to the chantry! They have a dragon!”  
  
Anders panicked inside his head. _The chantry._ How ironic.  
  
Dorian was quick to get on his feet, and he pulled at Anders’s arm. “Get take that side.” He gestured to the opposite side of the stretcher that held the patient Anders was currently taking care of. He looked the soldier in the eyes as she was panicking, and told her it would be all right.  
  
Anders watched as she became calm at the words, and no sooner did Dorian start to lift up on the stretcher, and Anders lifted his side as well.  
  
He wasn’t a step out of the tent when a shriek alerted him from over head, and he looked up to find huge clawed feet sweeping over him, leading up to giant wings and a head from which poured a rich red flame-- if that was even flame.  
  
“Come on!” Dorian urged, and Anders hurried. The dragon was completely black and it’s cry was unlike any dragon he’d heard before-- and he’d fought plenty, and even a High Dragon with Hawke. No-- he realized, this was exactly how the warden commander had described an arch demon.  
  
They’d made it into the chantry before he realized it. In the distance as the doors remained opened and more and more people poured in, he could see the tent they’d been in burning. He looked around at those who’d made it so far-- the Herald wasn’t among them.  
  
He turned back toward the entrance to find Cole, limping his way in with a chantry cleric over his shoulder. “He tried to stop a templar.” He said. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”  
  
The chantry cleric’s voice was almost humorous. “What a charming boy.” He said with some strain, and Cole walked him to where he could sit, set him down gently, and then approached Anders.  
  
“There’s nothing you can do.” He said, noticing that Anders’s eyes had fallen onto the man. “The rupturing is too great.”  
  
Anders quivered for the words-- he’d already assessed the damages, with some magical help. “I know.” He whispered.  
  
“Listen to me.” The chancellor called their attention. Anders didn’t know if he knew who he was or not, but he decided not to approach. Instead, Dorian hurried to his side. “There is a passage-- only I know it. You can get them out.”  
  
Anders didn’t manage to hear the whole thing, as he was interrupted.  
  
“You again.” A voice came from Anders’s right, and he braced himself in exhaustion, and turned to face it.  
  
“Do you really think it’s wise for you to be here?” Cullen spat, and Anders was surprised he wasn’t on his throat already.  
  
“As opposed to out there with that thing?” Dorian stepped up before Anders could answer. “Now’s not the time.” He said with aggression.  
  
Cullen shot him a sneer, but disregarded him and turned his attention back to the mage. “Restrain him. Now.”  
  
“Your soldiers are busy helping the wounded to safety!” Dorian argued, “You’re really going to busy them with this? He’s been helping!” Cullen hesitated, but his stern glare was steadfast.  
  
“Stand down, Cullen.” A voice from the chantry entrance sounded. Cullen turned to face her, and the annoyance shown on his face, but he did not disregard.  
  
“With all due respect--,”  
  
“You’re an army commander.” Adaar interrupted. “Not a guard of the law and not a templar.” She reminded. “Do you want these people to make it out of here or not?”   Cullen gritted his teeth.   
  
“Yes.” It came grudgingly, but it came.  
  
“Then lead them out.” She ordered, and Cullen nodded. “All of them.” She added.  
  
“He will face justice.”  
  
 _“Go.”_   She spat, her diplomacy having worn thin, and he obeyed. Dorian had already begun to lead Chancellor Roderick toward the back end of the chantry hall once Adaar had solved the problem. Cole had somewhat tucked himself behind Anders in the feud, but spoke up soon after Cullen left.  
  
  “Justice is part of him. He’s faced it.” Adaar couldn’t tell if he was confused, making a joke, or just mocking Cullen. She didn’t take time to ask.  
  
“Take care of each other.” She said. “Find Dorian, stick with the others, and don’t stand out. People are scared, and they won’t trust either of you.” Anders nodded in confirmation that he’d received the advice.  
  
She then turned. “Sera.”  
  
“No!” Sera barked in objection. “I’m going with you.”  
  
Adaar smiled back to her. “Of course.” She nodded, and Sera deflated a moment, and then nodded.  
  
“Oh!” Her face brightened. “Damn right.” She grinned, and drew and arrow and armed it just for emphasis on her preparedness.  
  
“Blackwall.” She turned to the other man.  
  
“At your side.” He answered with a nod as he stepped forward.  
  
“Let’s make noise.” Adaar said with resolve, and lead them out. The doors closed behind them, and Anders and Cole were left to one-another. The hall had otherwise been clear by Cullen-- he hadn’t bothered to direct or call upon either of them specifically.  
  
“We should catch up with the others.” Cole said. “Unless…” he paused. “You don’t want to?”  
  
Anders pondered. “You do?” He questioned as he turned to face him. “I’m a fugitive, and you’re a spirit. This is a chantry.” He gestured to the room they were in.  
  
Cole looked around from pillar to pillar, statue to statue, and then at the floor. “It’s a building.”  
  
Anders huffed with frustration. “We’ll be executed! We’re alone now. We could leave.”  
  
“I want to help.” Cole argued, and then paused. “There are many injured from the fight, it’s a long way to walk and they’re scared they won’t make it. Leg broken, arms burnt, _what if I slow them down? What if they leave me?”_  
  
Anders’s heart beat into his throat and he had to look away.  
  
“I can’t heal.” Cole said, and Anders opened his mouth, face riddled with anguish. He said nothing, but Cole seemed to understand something.  
  
Cole turned away, removed his insistence. “You’re right.” He said. “I’m… sorry.”  
  
“No.” Anders took a deep breath. “I’m coming with you. They need a healer.”   Cole was silent for a few moments, but didn’t argue. “We should catch up.” He said.  
  
Anders released a heavy sigh. “Of course.” And the two of them headed toward the back of the chantry to where the others had exited. Anders hoped the Herald of Andraste would make it. Without her, he was as good as executed after this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!


End file.
